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by wallaby24



Category: Political RPF - UK 20th-21st c.
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-05-26
Updated: 2019-05-26
Packaged: 2020-03-18 01:45:14
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 949
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18976201
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wallaby24/pseuds/wallaby24
Summary: Theresa and Philip arrive home in Maidenhead after she announces her resignation





	Home

She still feels lost as she steps inside their Maidenhead home, Philip closing the door behind them. They’re home now, and she should be relieved: there are no more cameras and microphones, no more speeches to make or tears to hold back.

Yet all she can feel is a certain numbness at what she’s had to do, and a lump in her throat that has grown and shrunk and grown again all morning, but that won’t go away.

“Are you doing all right, darling?” Philip asks softly, his hand coming to rest on her lower back.

She shakes her head slightly and reaches for him, and he immediately wraps her up in his arms, just as he did at No. 10. But this time there’s no worry about her sobs being heard, or desperate fight for control, or hurry to let go so they can be off to Maidenhead: there are no tears this time at all. There’s nothing but the soothing knowledge that she can stay in his arms as long as she needs, as long as it takes her to be ready to face the world again.

His grip on her is steady and strong and secure and everything she doesn’t feel right now, and she burrows into his shoulder, loving him for this. She knows the situation is killing him, too, knows how badly it must have hurt him to be forced to stand off by the fence while she broke down at the podium, knows he’s been driven mad for months and been just as stressed as her, knows he’s aching to fix this. But he’s never complained, never said a word about himself. He only ever wants to comfort her, to help her feel better, to make her life easier. The last few months have been an endless round of _I’ll go and run you a bath_ and _you should sit down while I finish the dishes_ and _why don’t I rub your back tonight_ and _would you like a cup of tea?_

She doesn’t know how she’ll ever thank him for any of it. She doesn’t have the words to explain what his warm, loving, steady presence has meant, how adrift she would have been without him, how sometimes he was the only thing keeping her sane and getting her through the day. Calling him her rock is an easily understood metaphor, but that’s not it, really, not quite. He’s the very air she breathes to live some days. He’s life support.

Theresa sighs softly, her eyes closed as her head rests on his shoulder, and she feels him turn his head to kiss the tip of her nose. “Do you know what I think you could use right now?” Philip says, his voice gentle.

“Hmm?”

“A nap. You haven’t slept properly all week, and I think you could use a good nap.”

Well, there’s no debating _that_ , she thinks. She’s been up at all hours worrying and stressing and agonizing over her decision—and, of course, Philip has been up with her, bearing nearly as much stress as she has, but he’s only concerned for her. This is, she realizes, his attempt at doing what he can to fix her, and he’s right that it will help. She’s dead on her feet, and exhaustion always makes everything feel worse.

“I could use a nap,” she admits, opening her eyes and raising her head.

“Good.” He kisses her cheek. “And I mean a very serious nap. I want you to take your makeup off and get into your pyjamas and then we’ll crawl into bed, and you can have some good sleep.”

“You’ll stay with me?” She’s stepped back a bit but is still holding onto him, and he smiles.

“Of course I will, darling. We’ll take a nap together.”

She can feel his gentle hand at her back as he guides her upstairs, and she decides on a shower before getting ready for bed. Going to bed in the middle of the afternoon feels irregular and almost decadent, but now that it’s been suggested, she’s longing for it and sensing that she _deserves_ this after the week she’s had. She’s done her best, and now she wants to rest.

When she gets out, Philip has her softest pyjamas laid out for her, and she dresses quickly, wanting to be in his arms again. She finds him propped up in the bed he’s turned down, the covers over his lap and looking comfortable in his t-shirt—a calming sight to her. He holds his arms out for her, and she eagerly climbs in next to him.

“There we are,” he says happily, giving her a warm embrace. “Ready to get some sleep? Is there anything I can get you?”

She shakes her head and lies down as Philip settles in next to her. He pulls her into his arms, close against his chest, so that she’s nestled against him, their legs tangling together and their hearts mere inches apart.

Theresa loves it when they sleep like this. On most nights, she prefers to have a bit of space in bed, and of course much of the time as prime minister she’s lain down later than her husband anyway. But it’s been their habit of nearly four decades for him to snuggle her like this when she’s sick or upset or frightened or even just cold, and she loves how calming it is. Her heart slows down when Philip holds her.

“I love you,” he whispers now, and she kisses his neck in reply. She knows that, she thinks as she lets her heavy eyelids drift shut, and it’s how she’ll get through this.


End file.
